


Nothing To Lose

by sidewinder



Category: A-Team (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Deathfic, Early Work, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plans don't always come together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing To Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written around 1997-1998 for what was supposed to be an "all death stories" 'zine, which never came about. So take that as an additional content warning as well...
> 
> The following story is written entirely for fun and not for any profit. No attempt is made to supersede or infringe upon the copyrights held by any television or film companies upon which this story is based.

As gunfire erupted throughout the courtyard and an explosion just a few feet behind him nearly brought Sergeant BA Baracus stumbling to the ground, the burly man wondered aloud if one of Hannibal's crazy plans would ever work out the way it was supposed to.

"C'mon, BA, they always do! In a subtle sort of way," Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith replied breathlessly, running across the yard alongside Baracus and pausing only momentarily to lob a grenade high through the air. The resulting blast knocked one of the perimeter guards down from his post on the outer wall surrounding the mansion-come-fortress the Team was storming. The man flew through the air in a graceless arc, landing in a thick shrubbery bush and distracting several men on the ground around him. The Team members used this momentary distraction to further their progress to their final destination.

"Ain't nothin' subtle 'bout this attack, man. It's just your same ol' 'through-the-front-door-assault,'" BA grumbled.

"With a half-pincer movement, right Johnny?" added Frankie "Dishpan" Santana, as the three men dropped for cover behind the low wall outside the main building, dodging a new hail of bullets from across the previously well-maintained gardens. The A-Team's mission, as assigned to them by General Hunt Stockwell, had been to travel to Ecuador and rescue the daughter of an up-and-coming politician, one Maurice Riviera, who was friendly to United States interests in the country and also wished to bring an end to the drug trade that was becoming increasingly prevalent in his country. Christival Valencia, local head of that aforementioned disreputable business, had not surprisingly disagreed with the Riviera's ideas. He had arranged for the kidnapping of Riviera's daughter and her untimely demise if Riviera did not alter his pro-USA and anti-cocaine position quickly. That very day, in fact, Riviera was supposed to announce by 3 p.m. his resignation from office in exchange for his daughter's life. However, if the Team could return the daughter to safety before then, he would maintain his position, thereby pleasing some parties high up in the US government and earning the Team a few more points towards their eventual - hopefully eventual, at least - full pardon.

Overall, it had been a straightforward mission for the Team, once they had managed to locate Valdez's headquarters in the countryside and stake out his property, ensuring the girl was definitely still there and alive, and then work out a plan of attack. The fact that they were out-manned, out-gunned, and working on an impossible time table was only business-as-usual to the five men that made up the A-Team. Captain H.M. "Howlin' Mad" Murdock and Lieutenant Templeton "Faceman" Peck were currently overhead in an old chopper that Peck had "acquired" and that had been modified in typical BA-fashion to now be equipped with rocket launchers and a side-mounted machine gun. Murdock and Peck's job in the attack was to attempt to distract most of the guards and keep them preoccupied while BA, Hannibal, and Frankie snuck inside, got the girl, and got out as quickly as possible.

The plan was unfortunately complicated by the fact that somehow Valdez seemed to have twice as many men guarding the compound that day than he had had the previous afternoon when the Team had been on surveillance. Perhaps he too had realized that there was a good chance someone would attempt such an attack to free the girl. Even with the distraction from above, the ground team found themselves in a more precarious position than Hannibal would have liked. The colonel gritted his teeth around his cigar and waited until he heard the thundering blades of the chopper right overhead, and felt the tremor as another rocket met its target in the center of the courtyard, before leading his two men out from behind their cover. Charging up the front steps, BA took the lead and kicked in the large door as Hannibal and Frankie followed, a trail of machine gun fire close at their heels.

Inside, the expensively-appointed house appeared deserted. Hannibal stayed on guard, knowing Valdez himself was probably inside somewhere, hiding most likely. "Up the stairs, fourth room on the right," Smith reminded his men. They had managed to grab one of Valdez's maids the previous evening and scared her into revealing exactly where the girl was being kept. The three men started quickly up the grand, winding staircase inside the house's main living room, only to find two guards charging out to meet them. BA was on top of one before the man had the chance to aim and fire his semi-automatic, knocking him out with one solid punch while Hannibal fired his own nine-millimeter and hit the other one expertly in the arm which was holding a gun. Any soldier could shoot to kill, but Hannibal and his men had seen more than enough killing in their time. To disarm the enemy and render him incapacitated was enough, and had been their standard operating policy since their escape from Fort Bragg in 1972. The guard slumped to the ground and Hannibal disarmed him as he cleared the top of the stairs and followed behind BA, who was already down the corridor checking for other guards. Frankie was stumbling along in the rear, calling, "Yo, wait up, guys!"

"No time, Frankie. Get in gear or you'll lose it," Hannibal insisted, finding the room that should have been holding the girl. He looked at BA and nodded.

The room's door was locked but no match for BA's sheer bulk. It collapsed inward against his weight as he slammed into it hard with his shoulder. The girl was indeed inside, and she shrieked and curled up defensively on the bed as she saw the intruders. Dark, wild eyes darted over the men from beneath the tangled mass of her long brown hair. She looked scared but thankfully not injured.

"It's okay, momma, we're here to bring you home," BA tried to reassure her, reaching to take her hand. But she just screamed again and shrank away, struggling out from BA's grasp and yelling at him defiantly and rapidly in Spanish.

"We gotta get her out of here and fast," Hannibal insisted, tossing out the last of his cigar and keeping an eye on the corridor.

"Allow me, gentlemen." Frankie came up and began speaking to her, trying to calm her down. Even though his East LA accent and dialect was slightly different from her Central American one, she understood enough of what he said to allow him to take her hand and lead her out of the room.

It sounded like World War Three was in progress outside as they made their way quickly back out of the mansion. The two guards at the top of the stairs were still out of commission. "We're comin' out, give us some heat," Hannibal ordered into his radio to the air team as he ran past the guards.

"Barbecue service on the way, Colonel," came Murdock's familiar drawl in reply.

"We'll take the jeep, you keep them busy from the air, Captain. We'll rendezvous back at Riviera's."

"You got it."

"Hey, this wasn't so bad after all!" Frankie called as he led the girl down the stairs. Turning back for a moment he shot her a reassuring smile and wondered if she was currently single, then suddenly tripped and stumbled to the ground as a hot burning pain lashed through his chest. Somehow, he realized dimly through the pain, he hadn't even heard the gun fire.

Hannibal had. He spun around from where he stood at the base of the stairs, quickly spotting the man who had fired. It was none other than Valdez himself. Hannibal fired back before Valdez had a chance to target him as well, hesitating only briefly to force himself not to make the killing shot. He clipped Valdez in the shoulder, and the man staggered against the wall and slumped to the floor, his gun falling to the floor and sliding away from him. "You won't get away with this, Americanos!" he still insisted.

"We just did, you piece of dirt. Be thankful I didn't blow you away right here and now like you deserve," Hannibal growled. The girl rushed to his side, shaking hard from fear and shock.

It sounded like the battle was subsiding outside. BA ran back up the stairs, grabbing the gun Valdez had dropped and then Frankie, hefting him gracelessly across his shoulder. "I didn't...I didn't see him, man," Frankie gasped.

Hannibal thought quickly. A wounded man hadn't been part of his plan. He planned on taking the girl back to her father on the road, with Murdock overhead to ensure a clear path for them and to provide a more tempting target for any enemy fire. But it was at least an hour on the road to Riviera's home, and in the opposite direction from the nearest large town where there might be adequate medical facilities. He made a quick decision and got Murdock on the radio again. "We got a Red-Ball One, Captain. Can you bring down the chopper for a pickup?"

"Yeah, no problem, Colonel." Another rocket exploded in the courtyard outside. "The ground troops have pretty much had it by now."

Hannibal and the others waited crouched behind the wall on what was left of the mansion's patio. Murdock was right - there were a few gunners still putting up a fight but most of them appeared to have run away or lay around wounded or dazed on the ground.

They waited until the chopper was close to the ground. Face provided cover fire as the others ran towards the helicopter.

"Murdock, get Frankie to a doctor ASAP! There's gotta be one in the town up to the north," Hannibal ordered. "We'll get the girl home."

Murdock took a quick concerned look at the wounded man being loaded into the seat next to him and nodded. As soon as Frankie was secured in the seat, Murdock took off, peeling away quickly over the tree tops as Face held on for dear life in the back until their flight leveled off. They were followed by a stream of gunfire, and several audible impacts with the chopper's hull were heard by Peck, who hoped nothing critical had been hit. They'd been fielding stray shots and even rockets throughout the assault and so far had received minimal damage.

The rain forest beneath them was a blur of green and brown as the captain pushed the chopper hard, flying low and fast. Murdock stole a quick look at Frankie and decided he definitely didn't like the way the younger man looked.

Face came up over Murdock's shoulder to check on Santana himself. "Aw man, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die..." Frankie was protesting profusely. "I'm too young and too good-looking to die now, man."

"It's not that bad," Face said reassuringly, although Murdock got the impression that the lieutenant wasn't as sure of that diagnosis as he was trying to sound to Frankie. "It's a good thing we had the chopper to get you outta there, that's all."

A few moments later a sputtering, coughing noise that Murdock did not like the sound of at all started up in the chopper's engine. He checked the fuel gauge and did a double take. "Shit! Why'd you have to go and jinx us like that, Faceman, huh?"

"What! What's wrong?" Face hollered back, shouting over the noise of the blades and the choking engine.

"Must'a taken a hit in the fuel tank back there. We're almost outta go-go juice and the only place we're gonna be goin' now is down."

"Oh, great..." Face remembered the last time they had been in a situation like this, trying to get out of the county in Texas in a chopper with a leaky fuel tank. This time he didn't see any conveniently located filling stations beneath them, however. He didn't see any sort of decent place for them to put down in at all.

Face grabbed the radio and tried to get Hannibal, to let them know they were in trouble. Much to his chagrin all he got in reply was static. Could they be out of range all ready? Or had the others encountered trouble as well...? Neither possibility pleased the lieutenant, who after a few more frantic tries gave up and began to prepare himself for the upcoming crash landing.

There was a narrow dirt road off to their right that Murdock had been vaguely following and he tried to bring the chopper down in that direction. However, the bird wasn't being very cooperative as it ran on the last few vapors left in the tank. He stayed as focused as he could on ensuring the best "landing" possible, blocking out any fears and doubts and trying to coax some controlled movement out of the helicopter. The last thing he saw clearly, before darkness clouded over him, was the minuscule clearing in the rain forest he almost brought them down in and the thick patch of trees and vines that had to get in their way instead.

* * *

Face opened his eyes and said a quick word of thanks to the heavens above that he appeared to be in one piece after yet-another one of Murdock's "emergency landings." His right elbow was throbbing painfully, where he had knocked it hard against the machine gun assembly on the side of the chopper, but other than that he was pretty sure he'd made it through okay. "Frankie...Murdock...? You guys okay?"

He saw Frankie moving slightly, then groaning. "Yeah, swell," he slurred. "Just knock a couple more pints of blood out of me, just what I need right now..."

"Murdock?" Face grew concerned when he received no reply. He pulled himself upright and checked on the pilot in the front seat, who was slumped back in his seat with a nasty gash across his forehead. Broken glass from the shattered window covered him and Frankie, and the whole front end of the chopper was in sorry shape after its indelicate collision with a group of trees.

"Murdock!" Face insisted with more than a little alarm, shaking the man by the shoulder. Much to his relief the captain finally groaned and his eyes flickered open.

"Wha - " he started groggily, blinking away his confusion as well as the blood that was trickling down into his eyes from his forehead. He winced and remarked dryly, "Oh man, did they give me the wrong medication today again?"

"We crashed, Murdock." Face breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't need more than one critically injured man on his hands right now. "C'mon, help me get Frankie outta here. I don't think we'll be getting this thing back up in the air anytime soon."

Face stepped out of the chopper gingerly and came around to Frankie's side. It took Murdock a moment to get himself reoriented and try to clear his thoughts after getting knocked out. His left leg was throbbing painfully, just as his head was, but he didn't realize that it had in fact been injured until he moved to step out what was left of the chopper cockpit himself. The pain-filled yell as he put his weight on his feet and then toppled onto the ground brought Face quickly over to his side. "Murdock, you all right?"

The captain just grimaced as Face helped him back up to his feet. He hesitantly tested putting his weight fully on his left leg again and quickly stopped, holding onto the side of the wrecked chopper for support. "I don't think I'm gonna be up for any walks through the woods today on this ankle. I can't be sure but I think somethin' might be broken."

"Terrific," Face sighed, rubbing his own sore arm. So much for the two of them trying to carry Frankie to help. Face reached up into the chopper for the radio and tried to get Hannibal again. As before, there was no response. He was getting increasingly worried now that something might have happened to them as well. But he knew he had to dismiss that line of thought and deal with the problem at hand. Somehow he was going to have to make his way to town himself and get back with help before it was too late and without attracting the attention of any of Valdez's stray supporters that no doubt might be looking for them still.

"Stay put, Murdock, I'll check out that leg in a minute," Face suggested to the pilot. He headed into the chopper then, to retrieve the small medical kit they had been carrying and tossing it out onto the ground. He also found a large blanket and spread it out on the flattest patch of ground he could find nearby. Then he came up to Frankie who was just sitting quietly (for once), breathing hard and wincing back the pain. Carefully Face helped the wounded man out of the chopper and led him over to the blanket, using the cushion from one of the chopper's seats as a pillow for his head. He pulled away the blood-soaked shirt from Frankie's chest and took his first good look at the wound. It wasn't a pretty sight; the skin was raw and inflamed around the bullet hole. No doubt they would be looking at a nasty infection in the wound soon if it didn't get taken care of right away. "You're lucky, Frankie, you took it pretty high in the chest. Could've been a little lower and you'd be dead already." Face had a sudden unpleasant flashback to when Murdock took that bullet for Hannibal several years back - it had been a similar "lucky" shot. Murdock had just barely pulled through that time...

"Man, I think I'd rather be dead than deal with this pain," Frankie complained.

"Careful about what you wish for, Frankie," Face warned. Unfortunately, there were no painkillers in the medical kit - just a small stash of bandages, thankfully some antiseptic, and other various supplies that were pretty much useless in a situation like this. Face did his best to clean the wound against Frankie's protests. Next thing he knew Murdock had staggered over, using a machine gun as a makeshift crutch, and was peering over Face's shoulder down at Frankie with concern.

"I thought I told you to stay put," chastised Face.

"I feel fine," Murdock lied. "Leg's not so bad."

"Let me be the judge of that," Face ordered, finishing up what he could on Frankie. "Make yourself useful, keep some pressure on that bandage." Murdock complied, sitting down next to Frankie so Face could check out his injured leg. Somehow his ankle had been twisted sharply on impact and was already swelling up nastily. Face wasn't an expert, but he didn't think anything was outright broken in the foot or ankle. He did his best with the elastic bandage from the kit to wrap it securely, so at the least Murdock couldn't injure it more severely at this point. "I think it's probably a minor fracture or just a really bad strain."

Murdock nodded, removing his baseball cap for a moment to wipe away the blood from his forehead cut. Face took a better look at that too, to make sure it wasn't too deep and wouldn't need any quick and dirty stitches. It wasn't bad, he noted gladly, just messy. The blood flow had already slowed and almost stopped by now. Face only wished he could say the same thing about Frankie's gun shot wound.

"Frankie would've been better off with Hannibal and BA in the jeep. What're we gonna do now?" Murdock asked Face.

Face looked up at the sky, and the hills in the distance. "Murdock, how good's your sense of where we are?"

"Mmm... well, I was followin' the road pretty close, we're maybe a couple hundred feet away from it, to the west." He indicated the direction to his right, past the crashed chopped. "The town is still maybe eight, ten miles north from here. Could be a little more, I'm not too sure. Ain't like there's many road signs out around here, y'know."

"Damn." Face shook his head. If only they could have reached Hannibal on the radio, they could have called in the others to meet them here. If he was lucky and moved fast, he might be able to make it to the town in two hours, maybe three... It would be tight. But it was their only choice, and Frankie's only chance. "Murdock, you stay here with Frankie. I'm gonna try to make it to town. Try to keep out of sight in case Valdez's men were following us."

Murdock looked down at Frankie, eyes closed against the pain and breathing hard, and then back at Face. The lieutenant knew his old friend well enough to read the expression on his face and in his eyes without needing to speak. He's not gonna make it, Murdock was telling him. There isn't enough time.

Murdock finally spoke softly, just saying, "You'd better go now, Faceman. And be careful."

"Yeah, you too. Do you have enough ammo, just in case?" Murdock nodded, indicated the rifle and also showing Face he had a small pistol tucked inside his jacket. "All right. Keep watch, and if you see trouble get out of here if you can, I'll find you," said Face, shouldering his light backpack and turning away from the two men. He quickly reoriented himself to the direction of the roadway and took off at a fast pace, disappearing shortly into the brush and jungle.

Murdock laid back against the tree trunk behind him and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed a few seconds to think and clear his head - everything had been happening too fast and his mind was spinning. But Frankie wasn't going to give him a moment's peace. He was groaning and moaning about the pain non-stop. He wanted to feel sympathy for the man - and he did - but at that moment he was just annoying the hell out of the Captain.

"Oh Jesus, I don't want to die, I don't wanna die..."

"C'mon, Franklin, put a lid on it," Murdock complained, opening his eyes to look down at the other man. He never did know when to shut up. "You ain't gonna die, Face is gettin' help now. We've all been through this type of thing before. We'll get you out of here."

"But that's you guys, man. I'm not... I'm not really one of you. You're all like, like... that Highlander dude, y'know, the guy... choppin' off heads and shit in that movie. Nothin' can ever take you guys out."

"That's a load of crap, Frankie," Murdock responded, although to himself he had to admit there was a shred of ironic truth to the statement. All of them - Hannibal, BA, Face, and himself - they had all used up more than nine lives each. They'd all come back from the edge more times than he liked to admit - last minute rescues, strokes of nothing but pure luck seeing them through the worst of situations. "It's just we've been at this kind of stuff a lot longer than you. First time I took a hit, I was sure that was it, and I was gonna die. But I made it through fine, and so will you - if you just shut up and try to rest, now," he scolded.

Frankie seemed to take the advice to heart, at least for the moment. He stopped complaining so much and seemed to drift off into semi-conscious stupor, leaving Murdock some quiet time to wonder about what Frankie's chances really were at this point. It was all up to Face now, and he wished the lieutenant all the speed in the world...

* * *

Face's chest hurt from the exertion of running and stumbling his way through the thick jungle floor. He'd stumbled and tripped over vines and tree roots repeatedly now in his haste, and he had numerous bruises in the making now on top of his ripped-up pants and jacket. If he wasn't careful he was going to stumble hard and hurt his ankle, or worse, and then never make it to the town in time. He had to pause for a moment to catch his breath and rest his legs, which were starting to cramp up. Stretching and flexing them rapidly, he scolded himself for getting so damn out of shape. Hannibal had been remarking just a few days before this mission that they were all in need one of their training getaways again to avoid getting sloppy. Lounging around Stockwell's compound in between assignments, with ample food and entertainment (if not freedom) had begun to get to all of them a bit. Face had protested Hannibal's suggestion at the time but now regretted they hadn't had the chance for it before this last job. Frankie had never had a chance to really get the kind of training he needed to be on the Team to begin with, the chance to learn how to think and move fast and always be on the lookout for danger. Santana wasn't exactly Face's favorite person in the world but he wouldn't let the man die for one of Stockwell's stupid jobs.

Face resumed his travels but stopped short suddenly, thinking he heard something coming along the road. He dropped low for better coverage behind the brush . In a creepy and very unsettling way, the whole situation was reminding him just a little too much of 'Nam - the heat, the jungle... the fear of an invisible enemy somewhere out there waiting for him... situations like this always had that effect on him, put him a little more on edge than usual.

He blinked away the sweat from his eyes and heard the rumble of the approaching truck growing stronger. It passed by him quickly, heading in the opposite direction he was going in, and he relaxed. Could have been someone heading out to Valdez to help clean up the mess the Team had left, he figured. He waited for a few seconds longer, making sure there were no other vehicles coming along, and continued quickly on his way. Checking his watch, he realized he'd already been on the run for an hour, and so far civilization seemed an eternity away still. He picked up the pace as much as he could handle and hoped that he could make it there in time. He had to.

* * *

Frankie was getting worse and way too fast. He was starting to get hot from a fever now, and Murdock guessed from experience they had maybe another hour, if they were lucky, before the situation was beyond hope. He changed the bandages once again, and checked the wound quickly. There was nothing more he could do, he thought in frustration, impatiently he checking his watch again. Where the hell was Face? Surely the sly con man with his undefeatible luck had found himself a pretty lady in a sports car (or at least a donkey-cart!) by now, and had made it to town in no time at all...

Frankie still had occasional bouts of semi-consciousness and seemed to be at least trying to hang on. As Murdock replaced one bloodied bandage with a new, clean one, Frankie groaned and looked up, struggling to speak. "Take it easy, Franklin. I know how hard it is for you to keep your big mouth shut, but save your energy for something more constructive for once, all right?" Murdock ordered him gently.

"No man, gotta... gotta tell you somethin, man," Frankie insisted.

"What ever it is it can wait."

"No... no... It can't. Murdock..." Frankie tried to focus his eyes on the captain. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have nothin' to be sorry about, Frankie."

"Yeah... yeah. I got you guys in trouble in the first place... with Stockwell."

Murdock was taken back a bit by Frankie's admission. "It's okay, Frankie. We know it wasn't your fault. Stockwell was just usin' you, they way he uses everyone." Murdock wiped the sweat off Frankie's brow, and continued seriously, "I'm sorry if I've given you a real hard time, sometimes. If we all have. But we just... that's the way we are. The four of us are used to takin' care of each other, and not trustin' anyone else."

Frankie looked off into the sky above, getting a far-away look Murdock didn't like at all. It seemed to be too much a look of resignation. "Gotta ask you somethin'. If... if I don't make it back. - "

"Don't even start thinkin' that way," Murdock insisted, but Frankie didn't listen.

"My dad... I worry about him... " Frankie struggled to finish speaking but couldn't, his face contorting against the pain.

It was enough, though, for Murdock to understand what he was asking. Frankie had mentioned his father before, how the man was in rather poor health and stuck in a nursing home for the past several years. "Yeah, I'll make sure he's all right, don't worry 'bout it. Just don't worry 'bout it now... Don't worry 'bout nothin', Frankie. Just try to hang tough. Don't let yourself give in."

Murdock frowned, wiping the younger man's forehead again and feeling the burning skin. The forest was thick with moisture and humidity, but Murdock couldn't remember seeing anything resembling a stream or river nearby where he could get some fresh water from to help cool him down. Even if there had been, he didn't know if he'd be able to make it more then a few feet without stumbling and injuring his leg even worse. The pain from that was getting bad, throbbing beneath the elastic bandage, but he did his best to ignore it.

C'mon, Face, don't let him down... Murdock said to himself and to the Faceman, wherever he was, straining his ears to listen for any signs of anyone approaching. But there was nothing, just the occasional sounds of the jungle life all around him.

* * *

"You don't think they coulda gotten shot down, Hannibal," BA asked the colonel with worry. The two men had made it back to Riviera's place without a hitch - the girl was safe, the authorities were on their way to bring in Valdez on kidnapping charges, and Stockwell had already called in to congratulate them on a job well done. But no call had come from Face or Murdock yet, and by this time they should have made it into town and had some idea of Frankie's condition.

"I dunno, BA," Hannibal replied honestly. His gut feeling on the situation wasn't good. Murdock would have called him as soon as they hit the ground. He put out his cigar, which was suddenly losing its flavor, and tried to think of what they should do. It had been almost two hours since the Team had split up after the assault.

"C'mon, BA, no point us hangin' around here anymore. Let's hit the road to town and try to track down the guys." BA nodded his agreement, looking visibly relieved at Hannibal's decision. They said their hasty good-byes to Riviera and his family, and set out in their jeep to find their missing friends.

* * *

The afternoon was wearing on and the remaining sunlight was fading beginning rapidly. Frankie had given up trying to talk long ago as the fever became too severe and the blood loss drained his remaining energy, and he lay now in a quickly deteriorating unconscious state. Murdock did the only thing he could think of to try to help anymore, which was just holding on to Frankie's hand tightly and trying to talk him through it, if the man could by any chance hear him still. Murdock knew what it was like to be on the other side of the situation; he had been there before, and remembered even if only most vaguely BA trying to keep him going while they were waiting for Face and the others to return with medical supplies. The gruff Sergeant's voice had been his lifeline, then, the one piece of his world he'd been able to keep focused on and thereby give him the strength to hold on. And he'd made it through that time, against all odds. He only hoped he could do the same for Frankie now.

"You're gonna made it, Frankie, just hang on. Just hang on a little longer... Face'll be here soon," Murdock kept insisting, trying not to give up hope. Hope and prayers had always seen then through before. It had always been enough.

But not this time. He wasn't sure of the exact moment when it happened; all he knew was when he next checked Frankie's pulse, he couldn't find it anymore. It had grown weaker and weaker until it simply had faded away completely. He tried to feel for any breath passing between his lips, under his nose, any signs of life, and he couldn't. He was gone, without a fight or struggle in the end at all. There would be no last minute rescue this time, no good guys riding in on white horses to save the day. No one to save Frankie Santana.

Murdock released the still hand he realized he was still holding and took a long deep breath. He hated death. Somehow he'd managed to accept during war the fact that he could very likely die, and stopped worrying about that, but he never could accept the reality of other people dying. Especially people that he was at all close to at all. He kept thinking there was something he could have done, should have done that would have made the difference, but just kept coming up blank. He couldn't understand how this could have happened. Not to the A-Team,

It was a good half hour later, with the last light fading rapidly on the forest floor, that Murdock finally heard the sound of a jeep chugging down the road, coming to a stop somewhere nearby. The sound brought him quickly out of a disturbed reverie he'd been sinking into, with only Frankie's still form for company and the solitude of the jungle reminding him too much of the jungles of Southeast Asia... reminding him of another time when he'd been shot down, on a recon flight... he'd survived the crash but been too injured to move, and could only radio in his position to HQ and wait and pray that someone decided to send out someone to bring him back in, and got there before Charlie did...

The captain positioned himself hastily with the rifle ready to defend himself in case it was trouble, but then he recognized Face's voice even before he could see him. "Murdock... Murdock..." the lieutenant was calling.

"Over here, Faceman," he yelled back, heaving a sigh of relief. He spotted Peck, being followed by another man.

"I brought a doctor out here, we can carry Frankie over to the jeep -" Face stopped short when his eyes met Murdock's. Murdock just shook his head as the doctor went over to check on Frankie.

"How... how long...?" Face stammered.

"'Bout a half hour ago. You couldn't have made it in time, Face. There wasn't any time. I... I did everything I could but..." Murdock swallowed hard, fighting back the bitter sting of tears from his eyes. Face came over to him, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders, realizing how difficult it must have been for him to watch Frankie die, then be stuck here alone with the body...

The doctor, a tall young man of local heritage, wrapped up Frankie in the blood-soaked blanket he'd been laid out on. "I'll bring him back to the jeep myself, it's all right," the man said quietly. He had little trouble lifting the lifeless body up into his arms and disappeared off in the direction of the road.

Face held onto Murdock tightly, feeling him shake with silent tears. "Nothing you could do about it, Murdock. Nothing you could do..." Face reassured him, still numb himself from the shock. It wasn't supposed to happen like this to them. They weren't supposed to lose one of their own.

It took just a few minutes for Murdock to calm back down, breathing a deep sigh and saying to Face, "Thanks. I.. things just started reminding me of 'Nam, y'know, for a while before you came."

"Yeah, I know. Same thing happened to me out there in the jungle," Face agreed uncomfortably. "C'mon, lemme help you up. We'll get into town and have the doctor look at that ankle. Then we can meet up with Hannibal and BA."

With that, the two old friends stumbled out of the jungle and back to the jeep, back on the road to civilization.

* * *

The smog hung like a dreary shroud over all of Los Angeles, the oppressive sky a familiar if not particularly fondly remembered sight to Captain Murdock. A much more pleasant sight was sitting right next to him, however, in the front of the blue van identified by simple white lettering as belonging to one Kelly Stevens, Veterinarian. Kelly had driven out to meet him at LAX that afternoon for what was going to be their first stretch of time together since he'd had to move out to Virginia the year before with the rest of the Team. He didn't want to count just how many months that had been; all he knew was that it had been much too long.

Right now, though, they were stuck in the middle of a typical LA traffic jam, moving about two feet every ten minutes or so. They'd already played through on the van's radio most of the new Pink Floyd tape Murdock had picked up before the trip. Murdock closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing as the music flowed over him and getting that comfortable feeling he always had just from being with Kelly again.

"This whole album is really depressing," Kelly commented bluntly over a wailing guitar solo.

"Not as much as most of their other stuff," observed Murdock. "Besides, that's what makes it so good. It's so depressing that it makes you feel better when you listen to it."

Kelly looked questioningly at Murdock. "Things have been pretty rough the past months, haven't they? I mean, I can see it in your face. You look so... tired."

He looked into her worried blue eyes, and reached across to take her hand reassuringly in his own. "It's been rough mainly 'cause I haven't seen you in so long, babe."

She flushed and got that embarrassed-looking, innocent smile that Murdock always found so enchanting. "I've missed you too," she replied. "You know, I never realized how...alone...I was before I met you. Then I just got used to having you around, even if it was just seeing you at the VA every week, or talking on the phone..."

"I know. I'm sorry, babe. I promise, this whole business is gonna be over real soon. It won't be much longer 'till I'm back here permanently." One way or another, he was going to make sure of that. He was growing increasingly tired of Stockwell's games, of his questionable missions and being under his watchful eye constantly. Murdock leaned over to kiss her, savoring the warmth of her lips, feeling her shiver in anticipation. God, I've missed this... missed her. She was just reaching up to touch his face, letting the kiss deepen, when they were interrupted by a loud whine and mournful howl from right behind then. Murdock turned and laughed; it was just Homer, Kelly's large guard dog, upset at being ignored in the display of affection.

"Hey, I've missed you too, buddy!" He scruffed the giant dog playfully on the head and it nuzzled his hand with its wet nose.

The traffic finally broke a short while later, and they turned off the highway on the exit that would take them into East LA. Murdock had made a promise to Frankie - and himself - that there was someone he would check in on before fully enjoying this all-too-brief holiday he and the rest of the Team had been granted. None of them had been in the best of spirits after losing Frankie on their last job. They all needed some time to heal, even Stockwell had realized that and given them a week off, no surveillance (at least, no obvious surveillance.)

Murdock yawned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his lower leg itching annoyingly under the splint he was still wearing. His body was telling him it was much later than 06:03, as the blinking digital readout on his dashboard insisted. There would be at least another two hours that evening on the road before they'd make it out to Kelly's place after this errand.

The nursing home was not in one of the absolute worst sections of East LA, but the neighborhood wasn't exactly going to make "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" either. The old complex took up most of a block with its white stucco walls and arched windows trimmed in peeling red paint. Kelly parked the van in front of the building's main entrance by a sign that declared it to be the Casa del Sol Seniors' Home. Murdock hoped no one would attempt to steal it before he was finished inside. Homer could be pretty threatening, though, so he supposed the vehicle would be all right.

Kelly followed him inside the building. "I'll wait here until you're done," she said, squeezing his hand in gentle reassurance, and he nodded.

The head nurse was a stocky, pleasant Hispanic woman who was more than happy to take Murdock to see to Mr. Antonio Santana, a resident in the home for the past five years. The elderly gentleman was sitting by himself in the home's small garden, which was tucked away from the street in the inner courtyard of the complex. Several other residents were out on the grounds, resting and relaxing in the fading daylight after their early dinner. Mr. Santana was seated in a wheel-chair, a brightly-decorated blanket across his lap and a Reader's Digest in his hands. The nurse turned away and Murdock was left with the unpleasant task before him - to tell the man that his son was dead.

Murdock slowly approached the seated figure. "Excuse me, Mr. Santana?"

The man looked up and focused surprisingly clear and sharp brown eyes on the captain. Despite his body's frail condition, he appeared to be someone of still strong spirit and agile mind. Thick silver hair framed a face that looked almost too much like his son's, aged forty years on. "Yes?" he asked, putting his magazine down in his lap.

"I'm HM Murdock. I... I've been working with your son, Frankie, for the past few months."

The man's face brightened noticeably at the mention of his son's name. "Ah, yes! I remember, Francisco mentioned you in his letters to me several times. You're...you're that loco pilot, aren't you? The one they call 'Mad Dog,' si?" he asked pleasantly, his voice laced with a gentle Mexican accent.

Murdock managed a thin smile. "It's 'Howlin' Mad,' actually."

"That's right, well, my memory isn't quite as good as it used to be, I'm afraid. Please, sit down," he indicated the bench next to his chair, and Murdock took a seat, putting down the cane he still was using to help get around. Mr. Santana seemed very happy for the company. "I don't get many visitors here these days, you see, just a few of my nephews and nieces but that's all. It's been over four months since I saw Francisco last, but he sends me letters quite frequently, to let me know he's doing all right." The man's voice sounded far away, and his sadness at his separation from his son was clearly evident. He continued, "I understand you are all in a very difficult situation, and that it is not your fault. I don't know honestly how Francisco got himself mixed up into such a mess, though. He was doing so well in the movies, with his special effects work. He loved that job, I heard he was very good at it."

"He was," Murdock agreed, finding it difficult to look directly into the older man's eyes. "He was very good, Mr. Santana."

Antonio picked up on something in Murdock's voice, the uncomfortable use of the past tense when referring to Frankie, for he stared squarely at the captain for a long moment, his features turning gravely serious. "Something... something's happened to him, hasn't it. That's why you're here."

Murdock looked down at the ground, hating having to do this, hating Stockwell and everyone and everything else that was responsible for this mess, and nodded his head slightly. He forced himself to look up again at the other man. "I'm sorry, Mr. Santana. He..." Murdock swallowed hard and shook his head sadly. "There was nothing any of us could do. He got hit... we couldn't get help in time..."

Murdock could see it, could practically feel it, the pain and shock in Antonio's eyes, the way the man's shoulders slumped in defeat as he realized his worst fears were coming true. "I... I knew this would happen... Oh, Jesus..." he shook his head. "He told me not to worry, that he was going to be fine, but I knew..."

He couldn't finish speaking, he just looked down closed his eyes, and sat there in the chair, motionless. He didn't cry; when the shock is too much the tears don't come until later. Murdock knew that from experience. Too much experience. The real pain wouldn't come until much later, when the shock is gone and the reality of the loss finally sinks in.

The captain waited silently, awkwardly, fidgeting with his hands and wishing he could offer at least a reassuring hand or something to the other man, but didn't feel it was proper. He was nothing but a complete stranger to him. "Mr. Santana...?" Murdock asked in concern after a few minutes when the man still didn't speak or move. "Should I get one of the nurses?"

"No, no... that's... I'll be all right," he finally spoke, holding up a hand in protest. He opened his eyes finally and looked to Murdock again. "As I said, I knew this was coming. Francisco... he was no soldier! He should have known better than to think he was. He told me he was doing such important work for the government and for the country..." He sighed deeply. "I told him, I have already lost one son, his older brother Enrique, to violence, to the gangs and the guns of this town. I did not want to lose another one."

"I'm sorry." Murdock wished there was something more he could say. "I... I don't think Frankie had much choice in the matter, as far as joining us and getting into this type of work. I think he was forcibly pulled into the whole business. Just like the rest of us were. We... me and the other guys, we knew that, and that he wasn't really ready for it, and we tried to keep him out of the worst trouble. We're used to it, and we're trained to handle it. But... there was only so much we could do."

They both sat silently for a while longer. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and one of the nurses came by and said sweetly, "Antonio, you'd better come inside soon, it's getting chilly."

"Si, si, just a few more minutes, Elise." She went away and Murdock decided he'd best leave soon as well.

"I should probably get going now, Mr. Santana. I wish... I'm sorry I had to be the bearer of such bad news."

"Did... was there a service for Francisco yet?"

Murdock nodded, his anger at Stockwell rising again. He'd protested vehemently that Frankie's family be informed, and invited to the ceremony, but Stockwell wouldn't hear it. "Security risk," he'd said. That bastard.

"We had a Catholic priest give a service for him, I'm sorry we couldn't inform you in time, but..."

Antonio nodded. "I understand... to an extent. Perhaps, after this is all over, you could come again, and explain... everything to me." Changing the topic slightly, he asked, "Your father must worry about you a great deal, Mr. Murdock, all these years?"

"My father passed away, two years ago," Murdock replied, and added honestly, "Actually, we hadn't talked in over ten years by then. Things that happened to me, after the war... because of it... well, he was rather upset at me, didn't want anything to do with me."

"I can't understand how any father could abandon his son like that."

"Neither can I, Mr. Santana. But..." Murdock looked off into the courtyard, and beyond. "We were never that close, to be truthful. I was always... too much like my mother, I think. She died when I was very young, but everyone else in the family said I was just like her." Crazy like her, too, Murdock remembered. Not wanting to dwell on the unpleasant past, Murdock stood up and asked one last time, "Are you sure you're going to be all right, Mr. Santana?"

"I'll be fine, I suppose... as all right as I can be right now." He stopped and coughed. "I just need time... time to grieve, time to try to understand. I thank you for coming, though, and telling me as you did."

"I had to. I... Frankie was worried about what would happen to you, if he wasn't around anymore. I promised I would make sure you would be okay."

Antonio nodded, and looked up with sad but hopeful eyes. "I'm sure I will be, for an old man whose only two sons are gone. My wife, Maria, gone, ten years ago... my daughters and grandchildren, well, they have better things to do now than come keep their father company... Perhaps, you will, as I asked, come again sometime, and we will talk some more?"

"Yes, I will. I think... I think I'd like that, very much," Murdock agreed. "Take care, Mr. Santana."

As Murdock turned away with a heavy heart and headed out of the courtyard, his thoughts turned back to the question that had been haunting him since Frankie's death - why? Why Frankie, and none of the rest of the Team, when they had all been tempting fate and disaster so much longer and more recklessly than Santana? He thought, now, that he finally had an answer - Frankie had cared too much. About life, about his family... about himself. He'd never seen any real action, never really understood what it was like to be in a situation where you knew, going in, that your chances of coming out were slim too none. He'd never had the chance to learn that in order to make it through situations like that, you had to stop caring. You had to stop worrying about what might happen to you. It wasn't becoming reckless, it was becoming fearless. Fearless because you had nothing, absolutely nothing too lose. If the Team had a secret to their survival, it was simply that. None of them had anything but each other: no future to speak of, no ties to the past or a family that needed them. Accepting death as a reality was the only way to face it on a day to day basis, and in the end to develop the strength to resist it. Amy Allen had been the only one of their associates who had even begun to really understand and accept that. Even so, she'd rarely ended up in the precarious positions Frankie had faced on a day-to-day basis with them.

Murdock's thoughts were interrupted as he re-entered the main waiting room and found Kelly waiting for him, a smile lighting up her face as she saw him. She got up from her chair and lost her smile when she saw his downbeat expression.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah..." he replied distractedly, caressing her shoulder gently. Nothing to lose... he did have something to lose now himself - Kelly. He realized it was that need to remain detached from her that had, subconsciously, kept him away the past months. He didn't like to think about what it might do to her if anything serious happened to him - she had been upset enough at the sight of his leg in a splint when he'd arrived that afternoon.

"C'mon, babe, let's blow this joint," he finally replied, trying to shake off the gloomy thoughts, for a while longer, at least. Going back to Stockwell and to the Team after this trip was going to be hard - infinitely harder than his decision to split from the VA and join them in Virginia after the trial had been several months ago. That had seemed like a necessity, then. Now... he didn't like the idea of leaving the Team, but... maybe his time would be up soon as well.


End file.
